Allah Akbar in Jakarta

ALLAH AKBAR..........
are the first words i recall as the early morning call rumbles through the dark, into my dreams then wakes me abruptly. The call of the muezzin is instantly familiar yet pleasingly exotic. It is well before dawn but i can sense the presence of many people nearby as the muezzin's prayer cresendos out of loudspeakers with increasing volume. It may be that as i wake i become more and more sensitive to this sound. But i suspect he is building to something. I lay exhausted, a light film of sweat across my chest, at the mercy of his commanding voice.
Time passes, i drift in and out of consciousness, but still i hear the furious prayer. Eventually i wake enough to dig deep into my pack and find earplugs. For the next few hours i am eiher listening to the muffled noises of the alley below or dreaming dreams that are a fusion of wakefulness and fantasy. As the dreams fade i'm left only with the faint sounds of shuffling footsteps, tinny bells and dulled voices. Then i remove the earplugs and the noise is instantly amplified. I realise the world is very much alive out there and my new reality is impossible to ignore.

The day before I awoke to an entirely different reality. It was still dark outside but also dead silent. The dense fog had lifted just enough to reveal grass plastered white with frost. My head ached from busy days and sleepless nights. I moved thorugh our apartment one final time, scanning each room, each wall, each corner fo anything i may have overlooked while packing last night. Final decisions, ones unable to be made in the months preceding, are made in an instant - a final gut feeling has to prove determinative. What to bring? What to leave? I heaved my pack onto my shoulders for the first of many times and closed my door behind me for the last time.
As we drove through the mist to the airport, the talk on the radio ws of killing, and killer, kangaroos. Government scientists said that the vast numbers of kangaroos that had gathered near the town's damns in their pursuit of water in a parched land needed to be culled to safeguard the quality of the town's water supply. Animal liberationists questioned the right to kill healthy sentient beings when their impact threatened our way of life. The scienists argued that the drought would kill the kangaroos if we didn't and who wouldn't prefer to a bullet to a slow death of thirst? Protestors vowed to stay with and protect the animals out on the frosted grasslands.
The kangaroos cause has been hampered in recent weeks. Recently a woman walking her dog across grasslands had been set upon by a big male grey kangaroo. Initially the grey reacted to the snarls of her dog, but as she drew her dog away, turning her back from the animal, she heard an aggressive snort moments before feeling a searing pain across her back. The big grey had slashed her with his claws and now towered above her as she lay on the grass. Luckily she was able to scramble through the doorway of a nearby shed, blocking the door with a bale. But all the while she cowered inside, she could hear the big grey snorting, shuffling and stalking her outside. It only left when two men, alerted by mobile phone, scared it away with loud noises.
Soon other stories emerged. Of kangaroos attacking small children and drowning dogs in damns. It was as if the once shy ancient inhabitants of our land were showing signs of fighting back.  On the plane i dream of a big grey standing sentinel like in the early morning mist on a frosted plain.

Sitting in the upstairs study the next morning i see red tiled roofs extending far into the smog in ever direction. I see the silvr dome of the mosque only three roofs to the north west. The loudspeakers surround the base of the dome - 5am prayers are not optional. Somewhere in the Quran there must be a passage obligating muslims to use the furthest advancements in sound technology in the pursuit of voluminous prayer. The sounds of the gang below are a little more discreet, but incessant. Voices bubble up from below like the chirps of a menagerie, perplexing not only as to meaning but also location. From where i sit i can see but a small corner of the gang. The rest is a maze hidden beneath the rooftops. I saw the briefest portion of it as Jo led me to her house last night and it charmed me instantly. Ojek boys guard the corner with the road, further along white robed worshipers murmer in an alcove, weathered Ibus sit serenely and all along groups of young men staring then smiling as we pass. My walk to the road the next morning makes no less impression. I encounter the children chasing after balls, that always roll into the drain, and slapping my bottom as i walk by. I'm forced to duck below a string grasped by several small children. As i stand upright again i gaze upwards and see their kite soaring impossibly high above the rooftops. This is the Kampung and village life continues here, sandwiched between the modern freeways, much as it did before Jakarta's modernisation. The muezzin, i learn, is Jo and Ben's landlord, there is a village chief whom i must soon meet and everybody knows everybody. Jo and Ben pretend they're married to avoid difficulties and when Jo and I are alone she leaves the door open to avoid the appearance of improprietry. When they first moved to Jakarta they lived in a security apartment in wealthy Menteng. Comfortable, secure but eventually they felt too removed from the Jakarta they wanted to know. They like life in the Kampung. And so do i.